Leszek Zukowski
by Raivis-Latvijas
Summary: Matthew had been bullied for years. He reached his breaking point. He ended up as one of the lucky ones. RussiaxCanada. Sensitive themes; dedicated to those who's lives were ruined by bullying.


**A/N: **I was inspired to write this due to a tragedy that happened the 14th of October. Jamie Hubley, a gay 15 year old from Ottawa, Canada, committed suicide. In his blog, he documented his life, including his depression and the hardships of being a gay teen. This one goes out to him and every other person whom has commit suicide due to bullying; may they rest in peace.

On to the details of the story; This is a Canada-centric high school AU oneshot. It could possibly have more than one chapter though, if I decide that I want to write more; but I think it'll probably stay with just one chapter for now. Anyways, the pairing in here is a change from what I normally write. It's RussiaxCanada… So… Yep.

Ah, and the title of the story "Leszek Zukowski" is the title of song by my favorite Polish band "Coma". The lyrics to the song fit this story; I recommend listening to it. It's like an eight or nine minute long song, and it's in Polish, so you might get a bit bored with it. Or something. Just go listen before I start to ramble.

Anyways, enjoy.

**Xxx**

No one understood.

When Ivan and I held hands, it wasn't because we were different. It was because we loved each other. We were together, not just physically, but mentally. We knew in our minds that there was no one we would rather be with. Everyone wanted to be loved, right? Why was it so different from everyone else when we were just in pursuit of the same thing everyone else was?

Ivan Braginsky, my Russian boyfriend, was a senior. He was born in Yakutsk, Russia, but had moved to Canada in his early years. He still bared his Russian accent, and occasionally would speak his native tongue. I myself was a junior, born in Quebec City, Quebec. I spoke French near-fluently, but I still spoke English primarily. Ivan, oh how I loved him so, was so much taller than me. I guessed it was a Russian thing. He was taller than a lot of the teachers, and was definitely taller than me.

But despite my boyfriend's incredibly tall stature and intimidating demeanor, people still found it in their hearts to tease us when we walked by them in the halls of the school.

"Well look here, isn't it the two faggots?" One student called out loudly. I scooted closer to Ivan, shying away from the harsh words. Ivan, glaring at the student whom had spoken, wrapped his arm around my shoulders.

"Don't listen to them, Matvey…" He said quietly in a soothing manner. I nodded a bit in silent agreement that I would not listen; but the words of the other student still echoed in my mind.

As we approached the room of my next class, we stopped outside the door.

"I'll see you at lunch, okay Matvey?" He gently swept a lock of my blonde hair behind my ear with his hand.

"Yeah…" I hugged the Russian tightly. He wrapped his arms around me and placed a light kiss on the top of my head.

"Don't let anyone get the best of you, okay? You're better than them, and you know it."

"Thanks Ivan…"

"I'll see you soon." And with that, he left down the hall, glancing over his shoulder at me with a smile. I sighed and managed to smile back before going into the classroom. I wasn't surprised when some of my classmates snickered at me. I knew what they were snickering about; I was gay. And they thought it was funny. How the hell they thought it was, I had no clue.

I sat at my desk towards the side of the classroom and sighed heavily. I had a feeling it was going to be another long day of being teased and tormented by the same people over and over. Even though we were a little more than halfway through the year, I had only just started to recognize the names of those whom tormented me.

I was primarily bothered by a select few; people whom I dared not mention the names of in fear of being beat up like I had been before. It was savage.

Ivan had been sick that day, and had no choice but to stay home. He had called me in the morning, sounding pretty lethargic and just overall in poor condition, to say that he wouldn't be there, and that I would have to try to keep my head up.

When I walked into school, the first thing that happened, was that I was noticed by a certain German-born senior.

"Hey, hey, where do you think you're going, fag?" He taunted, following me down the hall. I quickened my pace, trying my hardest to ignore the upperclassman.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" He grabbed the back of my sweater and pulled me back, then turned me around to face him. He snickered.

"No Ivan today, huh? What'd he do, break up with your wimpy ass?"

"N-No, he's sick…" I muttered, looking down.

"What was that, little bitch? He's sick? Haha, perfect. Now I get to do what I've always wanted to do to you." He shoved me up against the concrete wall of the hallway, then threw a punch with his right hand to my face. He nailed me, and my glasses flew off, broken. The guy continued to pummel me, a crowd forming around, cheering on his display of violence.

When I was on the ground he sat on my chest and continued to beat me senseless. I tried my best to defend myself, but it was useless. I was no fighter.

Finally, my savior, a male teacher rushed in and practically tacked the other guy off of me. I was lucky to be conscious to watch as the a few more teachers came over, dispersing the crowd. Two took the laughing aggressor away, while two stayed behind to check on me. One was my Chemistry teacher, Leopold Beilschmidt. He had long blonde hair and blue eyes; features that made me remember that he was the father of the guy whom had beat the hell out of me.

"I'm so sorry my son did that… You alright, Matthew…?" He asked, helping me up. With tears running down my cheeks, mixing with the blood from the cuts that adorned my face, I shook my head.

"Come on, let's get you to the nurse." He said, escorting me down to the nurse's office.

Once we were there he explained to the nurse, a Hungarian woman, what had happened.

"Alright… Well, let's get you cleaned up, Matthew. Then we'll determine if you need to go to the hospital for any of these cuts." She told me. I could merely nod; there was no way I was going to speak through my sobs.

She sat me down on one of the chairs and retrieved a pair of latex gloves, a few cotton balls which she dampened under the sink, and some bandages. She began to go to work, cleaning my wounds carefully, and inspecting them.

"This one on your eyebrow is pretty deep… But I don't think you'll need stitches." She informed, retrieving a patch of gauze and some medical tape. She folded the gauze so that it wouldn't hinder my sight, and taped it over the cut on my eyebrow. It stung, yes, but what the hell was I supposed to do about it?

Once the painful medical treatment was given, I was sent to the office, where things were divulged and ultimately Mr. Beilschmidt's son was suspended for a week and given one hell of a talking to by his father. When Ivan found out what happened the day after the incident, he was furious. I was surprised he didn't march right out of school on the hunt for the guy that beat me up. Thankfully though, he calmed down and made his best attempt to comfort me.

I still bear the scars from that day. They're less noticeable now since it's been two months, but the one on my eyebrow left a permanent indent that I hated to see in the mirror.

All through class that day, I was taunted. Whispers floated around the room from person to person, and some even came to my ears, mocking me, telling me how horrible I was.

I didn't want to start to believe them, but by lunchtime, it had broken me down. The moment I saw Ivan, I ran to him, tears welling up in my eyes. He turned my way and wrapped his arms around me, holding me tightly.

"Matvey…" He whispered. "What's wrong…?" He gently rubbed my back with his hand. I tried to explain, but all that came out was sobs and butchered French that Ivan didn't understand.

He lead me off to the side, away from the friends that he had been chatting with prior to my interruption. He sighed slightly then spoke quietly in a tongue I could understand.

"Calmez-vous et de parler, mon amour... Je ne comprends pas ce que vous dites…" I was so glad that he had taken French as a class for his four years in high school. It sounded a bit odd, mixing his accent with a language not native to his tongue, but it was understandable.

"…Je ne sais pas pourquoi ils parlent de nous comme ils le font... Il me blesse si mauvais... Je ne veux pas entendre plus... Je veux juste être seul pour toujours…" I doubted that Ivan understood fully what I was saying, but he could most likely comprehend the gist of it. Which was a bit negative for me, because what I was saying was some pretty harsh things that only someone as traumatized as myself would say.

"Matthieu, s'il vous plaît... Ne pas dire de telles choses…" He pleaded, knowing the meaning behind my words. I clutched the fabric of his coat tightly, burying my face in his chest. He held me close, whispering soft words in his native tongue. I didn't understand any of it whatsoever, but it soothed me, whatever he was saying.

A familiar voice then spoke from nearby.

"Is he okay?" It was Mr. Beilschmidt. Ivan looked to him, then down to me. I was practically breaking down, clinging to the Russian. He looked back to the German and shook his head.

"Let's take him down to the counselor's office. We can't let his breakdowns continue like this." Mr. Beilschmidt said. I was soon lead down the halls to the counselor's office. Ivan and I sat in chairs that were side by side, allowing him to wrap and arm around me and still try to comfort me the best he could.

The counselor, after a few minutes of trying to understand my blabbering, simply picked up a phone and called my parents.

Not even twenty minutes later, my mother and father were in the counselor's office with me, trying their hardest to coax me out of my breakdown.

But even as my father, Francis, held me close like I was still but a child, and my mother cooed soft words of French, I couldn't stop my crying. I was in so much pain; not physically, but mentally. I now knew what it was like to reach the ultimate breaking point. I now understood why so many people killed themselves because of bullying. They had reached their breaking points, and now I had.

But suicide, from a guy like myself, was something I couldn't comprehend. I did have plenty of suicidal thoughts, oh yes, I had plenty. But I didn't want to leave the world that way… did I?

It would be easier on me, not having to deal with so much pain. It would be easier for Ivan, not forcing him to try to help me out of something I should be able to deal with on my own. It would be easier for my parents, not having to worry about their only son. It would be easier on everyone… wouldn't it?

"We can pull him out of school today and give him time to recuperate at home, if you'd allow it." The counselor said.

"I think that would be best for our dear Matthew…" My mother replied.

"Alright. I'll fill out the documents, so you guys can just take him home now. Ivan, you will have to return to class though." The counselor turned to Ivan. My boyfriend sighed a bit and stood. I looked up at him, and he hesitated. He was supposed to leave, but I knew he didn't want to. My father let go of me, allowing me to say goodbye to Ivan for the while that he would not be able to see me and comfort me.

I stood shakily and wrapped my arms around the Russian, breathing quick and shuddering. He wrapped his long arms around me for what felt like the millionth time, and I could have sworn that he himself was crying. I felt his body shiver slightly, and his hands tightly clutch the fabric of my sweatshirt.

"Please, Matvey… Please think before you do anything… I do not want to lose you…" His voice was hardly above a whisper. I didn't respond.

He gently lifted my face and shared a bittersweet kiss with me, before letting me go and heading out of the counselor's office. I was then lead out by my parents,

When we got home, I went straight to my room and locked myself there. I didn't allow my parents in; and they soon gave up on trying to get me to speak with them.

I'll admit, I cried like a child. I had been doing that a lot recently. I really felt horrible; maybe the world would be better off without such a weakling as myself.

Ivan wouldn't have to deal with my constant running to him for comfort, my parents wouldn't have to worry, and best of all; I would no longer feel any pain.

But what about what Ivan had said before he left to go back to class? That he wanted me to think before I did anything, and that he didn't want to lose me?

I sighed; what about it? Was it really that worth it to hold onto me like he did?

I stood from my bed and meandered over to my closet; I had a gun stashed in there. It was my father's, but he didn't use it, and wasn't aware of the fact that I had stolen it about a month ago. I knew this day had been coming for quite some time.

I went back over to the bed and checked the magazine of the gun. There was just one bullet in it, but it was all I needed to do this.

Slowly, I lifted the gun to my head. My hand shook, but I forced it to be still. I shut my eyes tightly and grit my teeth; I had to do this. This was all that was left for me. I would be happy up in heaven, or if I was denied, Hell. Hell would be better than being alive like this. I would be happy. I would shoot myself in the head, and it would be done. Simple as that.

But just as I was about to pull the trigger, a voice came from outside my locked door.

"Matvey?" A few knocks. "Matvey, please open the door."

I froze.

"Matvey?" Ivan called my name, starting to sound a bit panicked. I still remained frozen.

"Matvey!" He pounded hard on the door. When I didn't respond again, I was shocked when he busted through the door with a mighty ram from his shoulder. He stumbled in and looked at me, utterly dumbfounded.

"M-Matvey… Wh-What're you… Why're you holding…" He struggled to find words. Slowly I lowered the gun from my head and he approached, slipping it out of my hand and tossing it to the other end of the bed. His shaky hands removed my glasses and then his arms encircled me, pulling me into a tight hug. I then began to cry once again into Ivan's chest, heavily sobbing. I knew this time for sure, Ivan was crying as well.

He had just walked into my near suicide attempt. My parents walked in, and it only took them seconds to figure out what had happened. My father quickly removed his gun from the bed and took it out of the room, presumably putting it back in it's case in his bedroom closet. My mother simply stared in shock at the scene.

A few weeks after my near final breakdown, Ivan and I were sitting on a bench outside the school. He had an arm wrapped around me like he always did, and I was enjoying it like I always did. I had been going to therapy sessions every other day for my depression, and was taking anti-depressants. They didn't help too much, but Ivan always assisted me through the tough times. I decided that things were better off if I wasn't dead, after Ivan had broken down in my room after discovering me with a gun to my head.

A small conversation arose in the March afternoon.

"Hey Matvey…?"

"Yeah Ivan…?"

"… What would you say, if for spring break in a couple weeks I wanted to go back to visit my hometown… with you?"

"I would love that… But isn't Vorkuta really cold?"

"You won't get too cold if you dress correctly… And not to mention, I'll be with you."

I smiled a bit and kissed his cheek in a display of affection I hadn't shown in quite a long time.

"So will you come with me to Vorkuta? I know it's not the most pleasant place in the world to go, but you could meet my family. My mother and father will be coming as well, but they're going to St. Petersburg… I'd rather go to my home city instead of a big place, you know?"

"Yeah… I think I'll come with you… My parents probably won't mind, since it's you I'll be going with… You'll be able to watch over me just like you always have."

"Yeah… I will." He smiled and planted a chaste kiss on my lips.

I was one of the lucky ones, to have been able to be pulled out of my suicidal thoughts and actions. So many had killed themselves over such things that I had been going through.

I was one of the lucky ones.


End file.
